


Perpendicular

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: RusEng Oneshots [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Human, Fashion Designer, Human, M/M, Modeling, Square
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re too square.”</p><p>Arthur wasn’t sure how to respond to that. </p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>Ivan hardly looked up from the stack of portfolios on his desk. “You’re too square to model.”</p><p>Arthur looked down at himself. He looked back up at Ivan. “I’m sorry, but you’re rejecting me because I have the body type you specifically requested? I printed out the job description, I can show you—“</p><p> Ivan smiled, setting down the portfolio he was flipping through. “I am sorry, Mr. Krinkland—“</p><p>“Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vietblueart](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=vietblueart), [Hetabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hetabee/gifts).



“You’re too square.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

“I’m sorry?”

Ivan hardly looked up from the stack of portfolios on his desk. “You’re too square to model.”

Arthur looked down at himself. He looked back up at Ivan. “I’m sorry, but you’re rejecting me because I have the body type you specifically requested? I printed out the job description, I can show you—“

Ivan smiled, setting down the portfolio he was flipping through. “I am sorry, Mr. Krinkland—“

“Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland.”

Ivan’s smile widened. “Mr. Kirkland, then. Unfortunately, you are not what I am looking for to model in the fall show. You have the required dimensions, but you’re just…”

“Square.” Arthur grabbed his clothes and pulled them on, gritting his teeth. “Next time, maybe you should change your call description. Sorry to have wasted your time.” He nodded, once, trying to maintain the illusion that he hadn’t just insulted Ivan Braginski, but whatever damage was done was done.

It wasn’t easy being a model. Arthur had some breakthroughs early in his career, but lately it had mainly been rejections. A new male model—Alfred F. Jones, from America, the twat—had swept into town and swept all of the contracts away with him. 

London seemed more dower whenever Arthur got rejected. It had rained overnight, but the sun was shining. Humidity dragged at Arthur’s clothes and skin, and he had to take off his jacket and frown at the summer sky, pray for some cool rain. 

Arthur’s mood didn’t improve much over the next month. His portfolio had been done-over by an expert, trying to give Arthur the appearance of washboard abs and a chiseled jawline. But Arthur never really saw the point of persistently working out when there were people with amazing bodies already. 

Plus, Arthur had a tendency to snack on tea cakes. 

So, Arthur worked out and snacked on cakes, and nothing really seemed to change. Model calls, auditions, rejections, summer weather, tea cakes, weight training. 

And then, Arthur was back in front of Ivan. 

Ivan sat behind his desk, smile mild. Despite being a fashion designer, he wore a simple suit and scarf. An out of season scarf, Arthur noted grumpily as he entered the modeling room. He stripped to his boxers, watching Ivan looking over his portfolio. 

Arthur disliked white interview rooms. They washed him out, so he had to overcompensate with his walk and interview skills. Arthur wasn’t really an interview person, but he threw on a smile and hoped Ivan had forgotten their previous meeting.

“Kirkland!” Ivan greeted when Arthur stood in front of the desk. “You’re still looking square!”

Arthur fought to keep his eyes from rolling. “Mr. Braginski. Your body specifications were similar as to your last call. Hopefully, our interactions can be more…” Ivan tilted his head, and Arthur thought he had a very oval face. “Civil.”

Ivan’s head ducked when he smiled. “You may show me your walk.”

“Thank you.” 

Arthur turned and shook out his shoulders. Then, he walked, trying to do his best to show a variety in strides. He hoped that the room wasn’t wreaking havoc with his complexion. How many models had Ivan seen today? Perhaps—

“You’re still very square.”

Arthur turned mid strut, eyebrows knitted together. “Oh, what does that even _mean_? You asked for less chiseled, I provide, and yet you’re just looking at me like I showed up for a position that required me to be a hundred-ninety bloody centimeters.” 

“How tall _are_ you?”

Arthur waved his hand. “You read my portfolio.”

Ivan’s head ducked again as he grinned. “You know, that Jones character came around to audition. He is very…”

“Long? Oval? Circular as opposed to rectangular?”

“Annoying.”

Arthur nodded, finally agreeing with something this chap had to say. He wondered if he could put his clothes on, if there was going to be an interview, or if Ivan was talking with him to stall from having to look at another twenty half-naked men. Arthur wouldn’t have minded the job himself. 

Arthur felt Ivan’s eyes looking him over. It wasn’t a particularly new feeling, and Arthur gazed evenly back until Ivan had finished assessing him. The designer nodded to himself.

“I’ll have to add some corners to some of my clothes, but you can show up to a fitting next week. My secretary will email you.” Ivan flipped through Arthur’s portfolio. “You had many more contracts a few years ago.”

Arthur grunted, walking over to his pile of clothes and unfolding them. “Yes, Antonio—er, Carriedo and I were in high demand. It was mainly accepting contracts from brands trying to snub the other one. Contracts were offered at double the other brand’s…” Arthur buttoned his shirt, wishing he hadn’t chosen a dark green. 

“And now?” 

Arthur snorted. “I’m too square.”

“You are very upset over that comment.” Ivan adjusted his scarf. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a comment on your…”

Arthur paused in the middle of knotting his tie. “My what?” There was a hesitation, and Arthur looked up to Ivan looking very torn. The expression changed to a smile. “My what?” He repeated, a little more defensively. 

“You seem tense. Like… Well, like you could use a drink.”

“Are you offering? No, never mind, are you buying?” 


	2. Two

“Ivan!”

Ivan looked up, caught sight of Arthur, and turned quickly on his heel. Arthur fumed, quickening his stride to try and catch up to Ivan. The designer started into a jog, retreating back into his building. 

“Toris!” Ivan said brightly as he hurried by, “Please stop the angry Englishman from yelling at me! Thank you.” He hurried by, and Arthur wanted to scream.

Toris stood, but he didn’t step from around his desk. Chained there like a nervous canary, he held one hand up, watching helplessly as Arthur slowed to shoot him a glare. Toris opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and Arthur moved on.

Ivan poked his head around the corner. “Toris, you’re doing a very poor job of stopping him!”

“Ivan Braginski—“

Ivan smiled, head ducking; Arthur’s anger dampened slightly as the gesture, but he kept the scowl on his face. The other man waved his hand, backing away from the model, looking over his shoulder like someone might save him. Or come across the scene. 

“Why have I been fu…” Arthur looked around himself, then looked back at Ivan. “Who are you even bloody looking for? No, Ivan, why have I been _fucking blacklisted_ ,” his voice dropped into a hiss, “by everyone in London?” 

Nearby, someone laughed far too loud for the enclosed space. It irritated Arthur, who was _already_ irritated, and Ivan was still smiling, though his hands were raised. Arthur pointed a finger.

“Did you tell people we slept together?” He asked the question too loudly, and Arthur’s head whipped around again, but the only other person nearby was Toris. And Toris never heard anything of importance, at least according to Ivan. 

Suddenly, Ivan was looking very serious. “No, I did not. And really, who is not sleeping with the designers?” He tried to get Arthur to laugh along, but quickly gave up. “I did not. And that wouldn’t affect anything, if I did.”

“Then why was it,” Arthur said, “that when I walked into the Vargas’ studio, they gave me a look like I was the Black Death?”

Ivan made a face. “You model with the Vargases?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I _do_ model with them! And that’s none of your business, and I don’t appreciate whatever you did to poison my name in the city,” Arthur paused. “Hold on a tick—“

That laugh was getting closer, and it was unsettlingly familiar. For whatever reason, it reminded him of American movies, all too fake and loud, making sure whoever heard it knew the laugher was _happy_.

Ivan grimaced. “I need a new secretary.” 

Alfred F. Jones, darling of the international modeling community, rounded the corner. An Asian man was at his side, holding some sort of smartphone. Alfred’s eyes flicked between Ivan and Arthur, and his smile widened. 

“Arthur! Dude, where you been? Man, it’s been ages. Ages, right, Kiku? Fuckin’ ages.” He strode forward and thrust out his hand, which Arthur almost managed to shake without frowning. “How you been?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking, you?” Arthur hoped his years of smiling for the camera had paid off.

Then again, models didn’t really smile. They just sort of stared moodily at the camera. Not Alfred, though. Arthur looked at Ivan, who was much too busy looking anywhere other than back at him. No, not the golden boy. 

“Groovy,” Alfred replied, releasing his hand. “Just came over here to talk about…”

Kiku flashed his phone at Arthur in explanation. “Logistics. Kiku Honda, agent. You are Arthur Kirkland; an honor to meet you.” He inclined his head slightly.

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but Alfred cut in. 

“So, yeah, Ivan and I, just arguing over my contract.” Alfred laughed, and he didn’t notice or care that no one joined in. “But Artie, what are you doing here? I didn’t hear you were signed with anyone, but Kiku doesn’t really tell me that stuff. No idea why.”

Arthur felt the smile cutting edges in his cheeks. “Just leaving.”

At least the weather was better. Arthur tugged his jacket closer around him as he walked outside, barely giving Toris a goodbye. Leaves whipped around him, and he stepped around puddles that threatened to flood his shoes. He should really work out.

Instead, he found his feet leading him through the streets, and he ended up outside the hotel. Arthur had disliked the building the first time Ivan had brought him there, but it wasn’t so bad when all Arthur wanted to do was avoid the treadmill. 

He nodded at the wait staff, taking the rickety elevator to Ivan’s room, jiggling the handle just right to let himself in without the key. 

Arthur liked Ivan’s room. He liked the clothes that were neatly folded, the buckets of thread and ribbon, the yardsticks. He even liked it when the clothes were ripped on the ground, and the room was dusted with white powder.

Arthur meant to do something productive, maybe check his email, but he ended up smoking all the cigarettes he had on him. He sat with his back against the wall, watching the door, chain-smoking. 

Finally, Ivan opened the door.

“Why are you sitting in the dark, silly, little, square man?” Ivan asked, smiling fondly at the burning cigarette tip. He shut the door. “For making over six figures a year, you are very insecure when your employer employs people.”

Arthur scoffed. “If I was making over six figures, you’d never see me again.”

Ivan strolled over, standing over Arthur and looking down at him. “Now, that is not true, is it?” He bent slightly, breathing in some of the lingering smoke. “Those smell good.”

Arthur looked at the box in hand. “They cost seven pounds.” 

They stayed like that for a while, Arthur brooding and Ivan watching the smoke curl in the fading sunlight. Even a cigarette, Arthur remembered, lighting a new one. Maybe that’s why Ivan requested his company so often; to keep his mind off of other sins. 

“Did you blacklist me?” Arthur looked up, only catching half of Ivan’s expression from the way the shadows played. “Because that was a shit thing to do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **vietblueart requested:** Prompts, prompts… Um… Maybe a little RusEng? Also, this is just a suggestion but maybe you can have a Modeling Studio!AU…? Like Russia’s the photographer and Arthur’s the model…or something.


End file.
